


A Need to Touch

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but if they could have a more stable and nurturing relationship build), (if it was given the growth it severely needed in a healthier way), Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddly Derek, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Sleeping Together, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely, cuddle fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: With everything they've gone through, it shouldn't have been as easy as it was, but for them, that's exactly what it turned out to be. Easy. "Derek knew tactile comfort was not just a thing for werewolves, although granted the need for it was probably stronger and more urgent. But he knew how much humans also needed the closeness and warmth of a comforting and loving touch." -- White Lillies by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [White Lilies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677149) by [howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf/pseuds/howl-to-the-wind). 



> I was supposed to be writing Halloween fics? Where did I mess up?
> 
> ~~probably where I started listening to[this playlist](http://8tracks.com/allthemenskings/only-human) and got claudia and stiles feels smh @ myself~~
> 
> Anyway, so I got caught up in [White Lillies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677149), which was very heart clenching and just as soothing. I really liked it. I read that line in there and was just _hit_ with the need to write how Derek and Stiles heal and help each other out with touch. That line was just so inspiring that I sat down and wrote all of this in one? two? sittings, maybe? Damn. I think it's some of the most I've ever written without hours of a break time, holy shit.
> 
> So after like, the first two and a half paragraphs, I started to listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-Vb-LAT4MA) on repeat. 
> 
> Enjoy!

                Like most things, it starts small before it grows into something more. Well, small is one way to describe it. To say small would mean that it started with the stares and maybe those led up to it, helped them to where they are now, but they weren’t really an actual part of it.

 

                Instead, it really starts off somewhat rocky; fingers clutching a shirt and pulling; hands on shoulders and pushing – up against a wall, feet stepping closer without thought; little moments that slip out too quickly, impulses.

 

                But it doesn’t stay that way. It gravitates into something less harsh, something just as firm and bold, but still _urges_ , _needs_ to touch. It moves to hands on shoulders and squeezing, to arms that brush against each other in ways that feel like more than accidents, to fingers that comb through hair, just a little too leisurely, just a little too much to do when company is around.

 

                So, of course, when the rest of the touches – because that’s what they are, what they were, what they’ve been from the start – all more or less start to turn to something that wolves that used to be humans, that grew up on the etiquette of human contact instead of pack aren’t used to, the times stripped of everyone but the two of them start to rise in number. They make excuses at first, research, plans, pack ideas, movie nights.

 

                That all goes out the window the second Derek walks in to see Stiles already sprawled out on his couch, no warning or planning or reasoning beforehand, just the flick of a gaze above the top of his phone, a growing smile, and the greeting of, “You should really get a lock for that door, dude.”

 

                However, it isn’t much of a surprise that they’ve wordlessly decided to change the rules to _step in whenever, no text or call needed_ when Derek slips in through Stiles’ window as he’s hunched over his laptop and gets comfortable on his bed. At least, when Stiles turns in his chair, the expression on his face reads more soft and relaxed than anything close to shock, anyway.

 

                Derek likes this agreement a lot better. It feels a lot more like them, a thing that isn’t just based on two people embracing their needs for psychical comfort, but something that he and Stiles are doing together. Before, when they would come up for excuses, the other would usually plan out something they could do, to give reasoning to their meetings, so it wouldn’t be a lie just to see each other – even if that was just what it was.

 

                Now, when he slips out of his shoes and melts into Stiles’ pillows, where the comforting scent surrounds him, putting him at ease, Stiles doesn’t have the TV already on, scrolling through Netflix. Now, he only hefts himself from his desk, carrying his laptop with him, and settles into a comfortable position next to Derek. Now, there isn’t cushions of seat space between them that has to be crossed as casually as possible when they both know what Derek is here for. Now, Stiles twists when Derek wraps himself around Stiles, sharing his heat, and lays back as Derek naps. Now, when Stiles _does_ open up Netflix, he’s already reclined backwards, head on Derek’s chest, palm flat on his stomach. Now, Derek doesn’t need any reason to be subtle when he brushes his nose through Stiles hair, fingers following after.

 

                After all, Stiles needs it too. Wolves might have been the ones known for their craving of the feeling of skin on skin, but humans needed it just as bad.

 

                It’s been years. It’s been years and they’ve both been deprived of what they’ve needed. Derek had Laura, but for a long time, he wouldn’t let himself have it. Every time he felt her on his skin, he felt the phantom touch of the rest of them, touching him when they shouldn’t – couldn’t be. It took a long time, even after he noticed how much it hurt her each time he flinched back and turned away, before he allowed himself to give in (because she never tried to stop, even if her attempts did drop in amount), but he never returned the touches first. He didn’t deserve that.

 

                And then she died. She died and he was alone and more touch-starved than he could have ever thought.

 

                Stiles, though, Stiles had more, but in the worst way. He had Scott and his mother, and he had the Sherriff, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because Stiles was the tactile one between himself and Scott, so he never made the move to touch first, even though he could have and it would have been accepted. The same went for Melissa, but Derek had the feeling that Stiles avoided her comfort especially, being that while she wasn’t _his_ , she was still a mother. Then, with the Sherriff, he just didn’t have the chance. Between the guilt, the bottles, and extra time he had to make up at the station for the bills, the one less paycheck, and what else, Stiles probably didn’t push.

 

                Knowing this, Derek is the one to start it all first. He learns what he knows later, after he’s pulled Stiles over a veterinarian’s table and commanded him to cut off his poisoned arm, after he’s pressed him up against his own bedroom door and tried not to shudder at the aroma Stiles always had to do, even if he was close enough to shove his nose right into the source of it.

 

                He only knows half of it when he slides his hand up Stiles’ arm one night when the pack is all together. He doesn’t even have all the more reasons that he has now when he starts making a point of pressing their knees together. He just knows that he recognizes that haunted look Stiles wears, the puff of seemingly exaggerated happiness, ease, that spills when someone touches him.

 

                And Stiles is smart enough to catch on. It doesn’t take too much before he shoves his foot against the side of Derek’s own, stands close enough that Derek feels bubbled by the pleasure he seems to admit with the new contact they share. Soon enough, it’s his own moves, all him, when he makes sure that every time they hand something back and forth that their fingers spark to each other’s touch. Soon enough, it’s his knuckles that roll, drag across his shoulders and back, never his neck until Derek touches his first.

 

                Stiles’ touches are confident and assurance that he likes this too, that he knows Derek needs the touch just as much, that he’s using this to heal too, but they’re never too much and he makes sure of that. He doesn’t push their boundaries, even if they haven’t been set with words but more of tenses or guiding touches to a different path. For that, Derek is immensely grateful.

 

                For that, Derek makes sure to do the same. He pays attention to the way Stiles reacts to him, keeps his senses peeled for any sign of discomfort, and mimics Stiles’ touches, is slow and careful when he moves in a different way. He makes sure, when the day comes, when he leans close enough, that Stiles leans in, too, and they go back and forth with their leaning, each giving the other a chance to back out, before he closes the distance and presses his lips to Stiles’ own.

 

                While their touches all were comfort, they started as needs, urges, born out of their desire to hold and be held. Their kisses are very much the same – the first being a way of testing the waters, before they jump in. Then, they would be almost rushed when one of them would get the craving for the other, for something more than just cuddling, a press of bodies with layers of clothes and nothing else to them. When they happened often enough, then they happened less out of wanting to be closer, but just because they _could_. They became Stiles kissing him because he smiled at one of his jokes, they became hellos, they became Derek gently pushing him down onto the couch to push his mouth to Stiles’ because he’s just so _happy_ for once, because of _this_ and _them_.

 

                After a while, the kisses, like the touches, became a mix of everything – needs and words unsaid but understood just the same, because they were people of body language than of tongue. They were made of whatever the mood was, because the kisses weren’t rare, just about as often as the touches, and those were as often as they could get them, and it was something Derek was so thankful he gave himself into for.

 

                All of it. The touches, the kisses, them, Stiles. Especially Stiles.

 

                Even thinking on everything that’s happened, Stiles was – is – worth it. Just for this, these moments, it’s almost compensation. It’s a gift he’ll never not be so happy to have.

 

                “Derek?” Stiles voice breaks him out of his thoughts, sleep curling into it, pitching it just low enough to drag Derek out of his head. He makes a noise back to show he’s listening, and Stiles sits up, sheets pooling around his waist, bare chest hardly visible in the dark. He beckons Derek closer with one hand, and Derek is already aching to move closer to him, to slip those fingers between his own. He moves to do so, like something’s reeling him in, tugging him closer, chest light but filling with contentment at Stiles’ next words, “Come back to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't yet, you should check out [that fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677149).
> 
> Hope you liked it, thanks for reading!


End file.
